


Jarvis, Mark 1

by Alex51324



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Butlers, Gen, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:09:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alex51324/pseuds/Alex51324
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jarvis--Tony's old butler, and the human inspiration for JARVIS--visits Tony at Avengers Tower, the rest of the team are uncomfortable.  From a kinkmeme prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jarvis, Mark 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt began by explaining the prompter's frustration with fics where Jarvis or JARVIS addresses people other than Tony as "Master Firstname." As s/he explains,
> 
> "The term "Master" is a form of address given to young boys; think of it as the male version of "Miss"." Adult men are "Mister" (unless they have another title-professional, military, or hereditary.) The use of "Master Tony" or the like is "a term of endearment [from a] butler who [has] known his charge since childhood, view them as their surrogate children, and so still refer to them with the childish honorific of 'Master.'"
> 
> If you've read my Downton Abbey fic, you may be able to guess why this prompt caught my eye. The prompter went on to prompt,
> 
> "The Avengers meet the human inspiration for JARVIS- Edwin Jarvis, the butler Howard hired to serve as a domestic servant/nanny and who Tony views more as his father than Howard. The Avengers aren't aware of that part of their history though. They just think that Jarvis was just some guy who used to open doors and clean the place for the Starks. When they hear Jarvis refer to Tony as "Master" and who he dotes on Tony, doing butler-y things for him as though he still worked for him, the Avengers get slightly uncomfortable. To the Avengers, it appears as though Jarvis thinks of himself as a slave, not as a former domestic servant."

“Sir,” JARVIS said suddenly. “Mr. Hogan wishes to inform you that he and your guest are entering the parking garage.”

“Thanks,” Tony said. _Finally_. A Stark Industries board meeting had prevented him from making the trip out to the airport himself. Since the meeting had ended—rather abruptly, as meetings Tony didn’t want to be in tended to do—he’d been sitting on the couch, checking his emails and reading comments on news articles about himself. He knew that doing something more absorbing would have made the waiting easier, but he didn’t want to risk being engrossed in something when they finally got here.

Now, though, he wondered if he should have changed clothes. Tailored slacks, a concert T-shirt, and an old Armani blazer were more than fine for a board meeting, but for this, maybe he should have made more of an effort. Would it have killed him to put on a tie?

No, but it was too late now. A few moments later, the private elevator to the penthouse _ding_ ed, and Tony jumped up from the couch to greet his long-awaited visitor. “Jarvis!” 

The butler was old now, and looked shorter than Tony remembered him being, but he still gave the best hugs. “Master Anthony,” he said, releasing Tony to hold him at arm’s length. “You’re looking well.”

“You, too. Here, let me--” He tried to take Jarvis’s suitcase, which Happy had brought up from the limo, but Jarvis _tsk_ ed at him. 

“I’ve got it, Mr. Stark,” Happy said. 

So Tony ended up leading a very short parade to the guest room he’d had prepared in the penthouse, explaining, “The floor where you stayed last time is sort of a common area for the team now. There are still some guest rooms down there, but…well, the team can get kind of rowdy sometimes.” Granted, the penthouse could get kind of rowdy sometimes too, but Tony was pretty sure he could restrain himself for two weeks. 

While Jarvis got settled, Tony went back to the kitchen and fussed over the tea tray that the catering service had delivered while he was out. Finger sandwiches—cucumber and chicken salad—two kinds of cake, some little chocolate cookies, and strawberries were all arranged on a tiered plate, next to the teapot, cups, sugar, and so on. Everything was, as far as Tony could tell, absolutely perfect—nothing Jarvis would feel like he had to fix, when he’d just gotten off an international flight, and anyway, was a _guest_. All Tony had to do was make the tea itself.

Surely that could not go wrong. He put the kettle on to boil, measured tea leaves—imported! From England!—into the pot, and, once the kettle had boiled, took the pot to the kettle, not vice-versa. Waited exactly three and a half minutes, and took the mesh basket of tea leaves back _out_. 

In the process, he dripped tea all over the kitchen counter, but that was fine, no problem—Jarvi s wasn’t going to be coming into the kitchen anyway, and if he didn’t see the spill, he wouldn’t try to _clean_ it. 

As Tony was picking up the tray to take it into the living room, it occurred to him that perhaps, as an extra security measure, he should wipe up the spilled tea himself. After spending two minutes searching for a dishcloth—he must have some, right? Even though there was a dishwasher?—he gave up and used a fast-food napkin. 

There. Tony took the tray into the living room, and a few moments later, Jarvis joined him. After a few remarks about the flight, they began catching up in earnest. Tony told Jarvis about his latest inventions, his teammates, and a few carefully-selected missions that he thought wouldn’t raise the old man’s blood pressure too much. (Jarvis had been very upset over the nuclear bomb incident, even moreso because Tony didn’t have a chance to call him before he’d seen it on the news.) Jarvis responded with stories from Tony’s childhood and adolescence—noting approvingly that Tony’s new friends seemed a far better lot than the ruffians and layabouts he’d chosen to surround himself with when he’d been younger—and a few anecdotes about his neighbors in what Tony had assured himself was a very high-end assisted living community in the south of England. 

By the time it occurred to either of them to actually pour the tea, it had gone cold. 

“I’ll just make some more,” Jarvis said, standing up. 

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Tony protested. “I made this pot.”

“And I’m sure it was lovely,” Jarvis said, taking the tea tray and sweeping into the kitchen.

There must have been some way Tony could have prevented that from happening, but damned if he knew what it was. 

Bruce showed up while Jarvis was still busy in the kitchen. All of the Avengers were coming to dinner in the penthouse that night, so Jarvis could meet them. Knowing that Bruce tended to fade into the background in large groups, and eager for Jarvis to get to know his science buddy, he’d suggested that Bruce stop by beforehand. 

“Hi,” Bruce said, peering around myopically. “Is, uh, Mr. Jarvis….”

“Kitchen,” Tony said, jerking his thumb in that direction. “Making tea.”

“Oh,” Bruce said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should go see if he needs any help?”

“Bruce,” Tony said kindly, “he’s an English butler. From England. He knows how to make tea.”

“He might not be familiar with your, uh, kitchen,” Bruce pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. Jarvis can make tea anywhere. He could make tea floating on an iceberg in the middle of the ocean.”

“That may be a bit of an overstatement, Master Anthony,” Jarvis said, returning with the tea tray. 

“I doubt it,” Tony answered. To Bruce, he added, “Spring term of my freshman year at MIT, I got the flu. He just _appeared_ in my dorm room. With tea. I still don’t know how. The RA confiscated my illegal hot plate like a month before.” He’d eventually figured out that his roommate had called Tony’s home, intending to let his parents know that he was, like, _really_ sick. Fortunately, he’d gotten Jarvis instead. But that still didn’t explain where the tea had come from. But now, present-day Jarvis was giving him a “do we need to have a talk about manners?” sort of look, so Tony hastily said, “Bruce, Jarvis, Jarvis, Dr. Bruce Banner.”

“Hi,” Bruce said. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you as well, Dr. Banner. Will you be staying for tea?”

Bruce glanced at Tony; he nodded. “Okay.”

Jarvis poured Tony the first cup, putting in lots of sugar and no cream, the way Tony always liked it, then asked Bruce what he wanted in his.

“Uh, milk, but I can do it,” Bruce offered.

“Nonsense.”

Now he and Bruce were using both of the cups that had been on the tea tray, and Tony already knew it would be useless to try telling Jarvis that he or Bruce could go get another one, so instead he just said, “Extra cups are in the cupboard left of the microwave.”

Jarvis left to get one. Sitting down in a wing chair catty-corner to Tony, Bruce said, “He calls you ‘Master Anthony’?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. It was a little embarrassing, but he could hardly tell _Jarvis_ it was “Mr. Stark” now. And trying to get him to call Tony “Tony” would be just as useless as telling him he could get his own tea. “He’s been with the family since I was like two, so.” He shrugged.

“Ah,” Bruce said, toying with his teacup. 

“He’d great,” Tony added. “Really…” He couldn’t think of another word. “Great. It’s been ages since I’ve seen him.”

When Jarvis came back, Bruce asked what he was planning to do while he was in New York. Jarvis mentioned some of the museums and other touristy things he wanted to see, adding, “But of course, spending time with Master Anthony will be the highlight of the trip.”

See? Great. “I can’t wait to give you the lab tour,” Tony said. Jarvis had seen the lab space on his last visit, but they hadn’t been fully outfitted yet. “I have it all separated into zones—one for materials research, one for electronics, one for programming and simulations. And there’s a whole other section for Bruce’s squishy organic stuff.”

“Ah, yes,” Jarvis said, glancing over at Bruce. “You’re the--”

“Hulk,” Bruce said. “Yeah.”

“I was going to say ‘geneticist.’”

“That too,” Bruce admitted. 

Jarvis deftly changed the subject by trying one of the cream cakes, and asking Tony where he’d gotten them.

“Caterer,” Tony said with a shrug. He knew Jarvis didn’t like that Tony didn’t have a proper domestic staff looking after him. “Not as good as yours, of course.”

“I’m sure I’ll find the time for a bit of baking, while I’m here.”

“Ooh,” Tony said. “The orange marmalade cake?” He’d usually asked for that cake for his birthday; when he’d been away at school, Jarvis had delivered it personally, which was always the best part. 

“If you like.”

“Awe-some!” Tony sang. “Wait till you try this, Bruce. It’s—you know what, I’ve given up trying to find anything like it at a restaurant. It’s just too sad.”

“You know,” Bruce pointed out, “Mr. Jarvis might not want to spend his vacation baking for you.”

Tony hadn’t thought of that—and he was pretty sure the reason he hadn’t was that Bruce was wrong. He glanced over at Jarvis, who said, “It would be my pleasure.”

Bruce and Jarvis seemed to hit it off pretty well. They ended up talking about Indian cooking—something Jarvis had learned as a young man working under a butler who’d been in service in India during the last years of the Raj, and Bruce much more recently. They formed a plan to cook an Indian meal for the team, one evening while Jarvis was here. 

After a while, the caterers showed up, and Jarvis said something about how Bruce would be wanting to go “dress for dinner.” Noticing Bruce’s look of alarm, Tony volunteered to show him out.

“Yeah, so, maybe put on a jacket and tie,” Tony suggested as they stood by the elevator. He glanced down at what he was wearing. Definitely should have put on a tie. “And tell the others.”

Tony had decided to have dinner catered in hopes that it would get Jarvis to take a load off. He knew from experience that if he just ordered takeout, like he normally would, Jarvis would insist on setting the table so they could eat it off of real plates like civilized human beings, and probably on adding some of his own side dishes and condiments, too. And even if he indulgently let Tony help, he’d go around after him fixing Tony’s mistakes, while the same time vehemently denying that there was anything wrong with the way Tony had done it. 

It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise, though, when instead of relaxing in his room, as Tony suggested, Jarvis took over the kitchen and started bossing the caterer and her assistant around. 

The caterer wasn’t too happy about it at first, but Jarvis was obviously having fun, so Tony pulled her aside and explained. “He was a butler for decades. He’s retired now, but—old warhorse, sound of the drum, you know. Just do what he says; it’ll make him happy.” 

The caterer agreed, probably more because of the substantial tip Tony pressed into her hand than anything he’d said.

“And don’t let him lift anything heavy!” Tony added as she started to return to the kitchen.

By the time the Avengers came for dinner, Jarvis had changed into a black suit, from the khakis and pullover he’d worn for the plane, and had stationed himself by the bar, fixing cocktails. That gave him a good vantage point to chat with the team as they arrived, in ones and twos. Tony had told Jarvis all about them, of course, so he asked about their work and hobbies, along with how they liked living and working with Tony. 

During dinner, Steve asked what Tony had been like as a child, and Jarvis told several stories, some mildly embarrassing. Like the one about how, at age five, Tony had decided he was going to grow the World’s Largest Pumpkin, but had succeeded in growing absolutely nothing, because he kept digging the seeds up to see if they were doing anything. 

The others ragged him about it a little—mostly on the theme of how Tony hadn’t changed much since he was five—but Tony didn’t mind too much. He was lucky to have someone to remember things like that about him; it occurred to him that he might be the only one of the team who did. None of the others had parents living, and if any of them had anyone else, like he had Jarvis, he didn’t know about it.

#

On the third morning of Mr. Jarvis’s visit, Bruce went up to the penthouse to ask Tony a question about one of their research projects, and walked in on Tony saying, “—blueberry pancakes for breakfast, I think,” in what struck Bruce as a particularly demanding tone. 

“And orange juice?” Mr. Jarvis asked.

“Fresh-squeezed?”

“But of course.” Noticing Bruce’s entrance, Mr. Jarvis asked, “Will you be joining Master Anthony for breakfast, Dr. Banner?”

“Uh, no, thanks,” Bruce said, internally boggling. The same kind of thing had been going on since the former butler had gotten there, and Bruce was finding it increasingly hard to take. He wasn’t sure which was worse, Mr. Jarvis’s servility or Tony’s blatant entitlement. “I’ll just grab something downstairs.”

“What’s up, Bruce?” Tony asked. 

Bruce dragged his mind back to his question, and asked it. 

“I’ll take a look at it this afternoon,” Tony promised. “Jarvis is dragging me to Central Park this morning.” He made a face, like taking his guest out to see some of the city was a tremendous, unfair burden. 

Bruce took the stairs back down to the communal floor, so that he could do some walking meditation on the way. By the time he got there, he had decided that something had to be done. 

The others were all sitting around the table, eating breakfasts that they had fixed for themselves, like normal people. Even Thor, the alien prince, was getting his own Pop-tarts out of the toaster and pouring his own coffee. 

Getting some tea and fruit, Bruce sat down too, and said, “Has anyone, um, noticed, since Mr. Jarvis has been here…I mean, he seems really nice, but. The way Tony is with him. It’s kind of—weird. Isn’t it?” 

The others didn’t respond at first, and for a moment, he thought maybe he was the only one who had noticed anything. But then everyone was nodding and saying things like, “ _God_ yes,” or “Well, yes, a little.”

“The ‘Master Anthony’ thing,” Steve began. 

“I know!” Clint said. “I feel like I’m in a creepy German porno.”

“I was going to say _Gone with the Wind_ ,” Steve finished. 

“Steve!” Clint said. “You made a reference!”

“The movie came out in 1939,” Steve answered. “And at least my reference wasn’t _disgusting_.”

“Yeah, thanks for making it worse, Clint,” Bruce added, trying desperately not to form a mental picture. “It’s not like _that_ ,” he went on. “Tony said Jarvis has known him since he was two. And it doesn’t—I mean, you don’t really think it reads like that?” he asked Clint.

“No,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Fortunately.”

“It’s more like Tony just assumes Mr. Jarvis is here to wait on him hand and foot,” Steve said. Yes, good, that had been what Bruce was talking about. 

“And Mr. Jarvis doesn’t seem to mind. I’m not sure he even _notices_ ,” Bruce went on. “Tony said he was coming to visit, but as far as I can tell, he spends all his time cooking for Tony, waiting on Tony, and being a captive audience while Tony shows off his stuff.” Bruce was honestly kind of shocked. Under Tony’s sarcastic front, he was usually very considerate to the people close to him—the kind of guy who would, if necessary, give you his left kidney, while simultaneously mocking you for being so much of a wuss you couldn’t keep your own internal organs functioning. He could kind of buy that Tony legitimately thought that looking at his latest inventions and watching him do tricks in the Iron Man suit would be a treat for anyone, but the rest of it just seemed selfish. “He has Mr. Jarvis making him breakfast, up there, right now.”

“He did yesterday, too,” Steve put in. “Tony made some kind of comment about having to work off a full English breakfast, when we were sparring.”

“Have you noticed how _neat_ Tony’s apartment is now?” Clint asked. “Unless he’s started picking up after himself--” He looked pointedly at a pile of Tony-flotsam (thumb drives, tools, pens, socks, crumpled bits of paper that may or may not be important, candy, small toys) that had occupied the end of the kitchen counter long enough for the cleaning service to have neatly arranged it in parallel lines and stacks of ascending size. They all knew how unlikely that was. “—Mr. Jarvis is doing it for him.” 

“The other day I saw him _shining Tony’s shoes_ ,” Natasha added. 

“Doesn’t sound like much of a vacation to me,” Steve said, shaking his head. 

Thor frowned. “Was Mr. Jarvis not a thrall of Tony’s ancestral home?”

“Butler,” Bruce said. “We don’t have thralls in this realm. Anymore.”

“Yeah, that was over long before my time, even,” Steve added. “He _worked_ for Tony’s family. Doing…probably mostly the same kind of things he’s doing for Tony now. But he’s a free person, so he shouldn’t be calling anybody ‘master.’ And he’s _retired_ , so he shouldn’t be doing that stuff anymore.”

Then they had to explain the idea of “retirement” to Thor—he turned out to be familiar with the idea of pensioning off old or infirm servants, but he was a little confused by how that applied to Mr. Jarvis, since he was clearly still physically capable of working. Once that was cleared up, though, Thor seemed to understand what they were getting at. 

“We have to say something,” Bruce concluded. “Maybe…I mean, it’s possible Tony just doesn’t realize what a jerk he’s being. And Mr. Jarvis probably doesn’t feel comfortable calling him on it.”

They decided on that afternoon, when Tony came down to the lab. Since Mr. Jarvis was getting out of the apartment for once, they didn’t want to get in the way of that.

#

Tony swung into the lab a little later than he had planned—a little boy at the zoo had recognized Tony, and he’d gotten caught up signing autographs—and was surprised to see the whole team there. 

“How was Central Park?” Steve asked. 

“Good. Fine,” he said. That couldn’t be the purpose of this visit, could it? “Went to the zoo. Jarvis insists I used to love it when I was little, but I have absolutely no recollection of that. Does that sound like me? Seriously, I’m starting to wonder if he’s trolling me.”

Nobody laughed. In fact, Bruce said, “Tony,” in his “you’re on thin ice, buster” voice. 

“So, what’s up?” he asked. “Tell me this isn’t an intervention.”

“Actually,” Clint said. 

“ _What_?” That had been a _joke_. “I’ve barely even been drinking.” No slutting around, either. All of his vices were under control, unless inventing things and being awesome were vices now.

“It’s about Mr. Jarvis,” Bruce explained.

“He hasn’t been drinking, either.” 

“The way you’ve been treating him,” Steve added. “Making him cook for you.”

“And clean up after you,” Natasha said.

“Polishing your _shoes_ , Tony? Really?” Bruce looked pained.

“He is no longer of your household,” Thor said grimly. “If he is here as a guest, he should be free to enjoy the delights of the city.”

Clint put in, “And that’s without even getting into the whole ‘Master Anthony’ thing.”

“Wait, what?” Up until that one, Tony could sort of see where they were coming from—maybe it wasn’t obvious that Tony wasn’t _making_ Jarvis do any of those things, though he would have liked for his friends to give him a little more credit than that. 

“He isn’t your _slave_ , Tony.” Steve sounded indignant about the very idea.

_Ohhhhhhhhhhh_. “That’s not what that’s about.” Of course, none of the others had had servants growing up—probably hadn’t even known anyone who did. “That’s just what domestic staff call you, when you’re a kid. If they were talking to my parents, it was actually ‘young Master Stark.’ You usually switch over to ‘Mister’ somewhere around puberty, but Jarvis has been around so long, he’s kind of grandfathered in. It’s sort of an affectionate thing.” More than that, it was a reminder that, to Jarvis, he’d always be the little boy he’d taken care of, and loved more than Tony’s parents ever did. 

“Okay,” Bruce finally said. “But he doesn’t work for you anymore.”

“I know,” Tony said. Did he ever know it. He’d managed to sack up and be an adult about it when Jarvis decided it was time to retire—everybody had to grow up sometime, even Tony Stark—and creating JARVIS had filled some of the void, but Tony still missed him. 

Before he could elaborate, Bruce went on, “He can’t possibly want to spend his vacation doing his old job. I don’t know what you told him when you invited him here, but that can’t be what he was expecting.”

Tony shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

“What don’t we understand, Tony?” Steve asked. “Because from where we’re sitting, it looks more like you don’t understand that that nice old man has better things to do than change your diapers.”

“I was well out of diapers by the time I met Jarvis.”

“That’s not really the point,” Bruce noted. 

“No,” Tony said, irritated now. “The point is, Jarvis raised me. I mean, I had nannies, but none of them ever lasted long. Any my parents…Steve, I know you and Dad were friends and all, but he was not exactly Ward Cleaver. Jarvis was the only one who was always there. He was the one who came to all my school stuff—parents’ days, sports days, graduations, everything—he was the one who hugged me when I hurt myself, who I showed all my report cards and projects to, who I went to when I had a problem. He was even the one who lectured me—and held my head while I vomited—when I decided fifteen was plenty old enough to start drinking. He comforted me when my parents died; he helped me move into my first apartment; he taught me how to dress for board meetings so people would listen to me—which I’ve kind of ignored, lately, but when I was a snot-nosed twenty-year-old, it was pretty important.”

He paused for breath, and glanced around at the others. Nobody looked particularly mollified, though Thor did say, “You are fortunate to have had such a devoted retainer.”

“I am,” Tony agreed. “But he’s more than that. The cliché would be that he’s like a father to me, but he’s more than that. He’s my mother, my father, all four grandparents, and my favorite uncle. He comes to see me, or I go see him, just about every year. And when he does, he likes to take care of me. I try to get him to take it easy, but--” He shook his head. “It’s like, have any of you ever been over to somebody’s house, and they had like, a _mom_ mom?” He was pretty sure that none of them _had_ a mom like that. “The kind that, as soon as you show up, she does your laundry and cooks all your favorites from when you were a kid?”

“I’m pretty sure they only exist on TV,” Clint said. 

“No,” Bruce told him. “I thought so, too, but then once in college my roommate invited me home for Thanksgiving. It was exactly like that. But Tony, Mr. Jarvis is not your mom. He’s somebody you used to pay to work for you. I’m glad you like him and that you feel like you guys have a special relationship, but you’re acting like a dick.”

Tony knew Bruce was wrong, but his remarks touched on an old fear—that Jarvis only pretended to care about him because it was his job. He’d recognized the holes in that argument even when he’d been a kid—for one thing, back when it had been Dad paying Jarvis’s salary, he wouldn’t have noticed or cared whether Jarvis was paying any attention to Tony or not. For another, this was far from Jarvis’s first visit since he’d retired, and he always fussed over Tony, despite Tony’s efforts to get him to take it easy.

Still, he didn’t know how to explain that—and wasn’t even sure if he _wanted_ to, given that the others had apparently all decided to gang up on him and accuse him of being a dick.

He was still trying to decide how to respond when Jarvis appeared, bearing tea and cinnamon toast. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said, putting the tray down on the workbench and patting Tony’s shoulder. “I hope I’m not interrupting Avengers’ business.” His wry tone suggested that he knew he was interrupting something, but sincerely doubted it had anything to do with superheroics.

Possible JARVIS had alerted him. Or maybe he just knew. “Thanks, Jarvis,” he said, taking a sip of tea. “Actually, the others have been wondering if we’ve been doing all we can to make sure that you’re enjoying your visit.”

“Have they,” Jarvis said, with just the slightest hint of ice in his tone. “How kind.”

“Maybe,” Tony suggested slyly, “you guys would like to tell Jarvis what you just told me.”

Bruce said, “Um.” 

Wise choice, Tony thought. 

Steve was a little more reckless. He drew himself up and said, “Mr. Jarvis, we’re a little concerned that you seem to feel like you have to spend your holiday working for Tony.”

“I see,” Jarvis said. “And you’ve all come here to discuss that with him?”

“Yes,” Steve said. 

“Mr. Stark—that is, the elder Mr. Stark—spoke of you often during the years that I was in his employ,” Jarvis said, his tone deceptively mild. 

Steve said something about how it was nice that Howard remembered him.

“One matter he frequently mentioned was your distaste for bullies. Tell me, do you fear that Master Anthony--” Here his hand squeezed Tony’s shoulder “—has been bullying me?”

“Well, not _intentionally_ , of course,” Steve said. “But Tony can be….” 

He paused to choose a word, and Jarvis interrupted him, saying sternly, “Captain Rogers, I am quite sure that neither Anthony nor I need to hear the end of that sentence. And as for how I have chosen to spend my holiday, I came to New York for the _express purpose_ of spending time with Anthony. I am, as you know, retired, and hence I have ample leisure for visiting museums, viewing sites of historical interest, and shopping. I count my role in helping Master Anthony to develop into the fine man he is today among my proudest accomplishments, and if, on my holiday, I choose to revisit those days by performing some small service for him—well, I’m simply glad he’s kind enough to indulge an old man.”

“Aw, Jarvis,” Tony said. “You know I love you.”

“Of course,” Jarvis replied. “And I you.”

Deciding he didn’t care that the others were all watching, Tony got up and hugged Jarvis. 

Once they were finished, Bruce said, “Okay, so, I guess we, uh, misunderstood.”

“Indeed,” Jarvis said. “You did.”

#

Mr. Jarvis was a bit cool to the other Avengers for the next few days. The atmosphere was still a bit chilly when the time came to cook the Indian meal Bruce and Jarvis had discussed. Bruce was uncomfortably aware that by now, Mr. Jarvis had probably figured out that the main reason Bruce had offered to help in the first place was that he thought Tony was taking advantage of him. 

Bruce was a little ashamed of the conclusion he’d jumped to, based on a few stray pieces of data. Now that he was looking for it, Mr. Jarvis and Tony’s fondness for each other was obvious in the way they spoke to and about each other. And while Mr. Jarvis did do a lot for Tony, Tony was always very appreciative—in his way. Mr. Jarvis knew Tony better than any of the Avengers did; much of what they had taken for petulance and entitlement on Tony’s side, and obsequiousness on Mr. Jarvis’s, were actually very old inside jokes. And, perhaps the most compelling piece of evidence of all, this was far from being Mr. Jarvis’s first visit with Tony since his retirement—when Tony said it had been “ages” since he saw Jarvis last, he actually meant something like a year and a half. 

So, in between straining _paneer_ and grinding spices for _garam masala_ , Bruce found the time to say, “Mr. Jarvis, I’m sorry about the…misunderstanding, the other day. We shouldn’t have…assumed.”

“Very well,” Mr. Jarvis said, glancing into Bruce’s pestle. “The cumin needs to be ground more finely. Have you apologized to Master Anthony?”

“Uh….” Frankly, it hadn’t occurred to Bruce to do so. Tony hadn’t been acting any differently toward them; Bruce had the impression he’d forgotten all about it.

“You should,” Mr. Jarvis said. “Anthony has always been…rather sensitive to what others think of him. Particularly those he considers friends.”

“Really?” Bruce asked.

“Hm. He hides it well. Not _quite_ so much cardamom.”

Later, during a quiet moment in the feast, Bruce did apologize to Tony. Tony, naturally, replied flippantly, “So you don’t think I’m being a dick anymore?” 

“Never,” Bruce answered, noticing that, despite his tone of voice, Tony was watching him intently as he replied.

Mr. Jarvis was right; he did hide it well. 

#

Like all good things, Jarvis’s visit eventually drew to a close. After a last, farewell breakfast, Tony saw him off at the airport, promising to visit Jarvis in England soon. 

The penthouse seemed very empty, when he got home. Tony wandered around for a moment like a lost soul, before sitting sadly on the sofa and looking at his folded hands. “Sir?” JARVIS asked. “Is there anything you require?”

“No,” Tony said. He knew he’d be back to normal soon—it was just always a little bit of a letdown, when Jarvis left. “Thanks, J.”

“Mr. Jarvis instructed me to remind you that he does possess a telephone,” JARVIS went on. “And that he has left the freezer fully stocked with baked goods.”

Tony had to smile a little at the idea of Jarvis and JARVIS entering into a friendly conspiracy to get him over this little emotional hump in the road. “It isn’t really about the food,” he said, but he did get up and wander over to the freezer. Maybe a scone would cheer him up. 

While it was defrosting in the toaster oven, Tony fixed a cup of tea. He hardly ever had tea when Jarvis wasn’t here, but there was some left. Might as well use it up—Steve would approve. 

“Sir,” JARVIS said. “Dr. Banner is on his way up. Shall I let him in, or tell him you’re busy?”

“He can come in,” Tony decided. He made a second cup of tea for Bruce, but didn’t get out another scone—he was planning to hoard those like precious treasure. 

Bruce took the tea, sipped it, and said, “This is good,” with an unflattering amount of surprise.

“I learned from the best.” Tony shrugged. 

“Mr. Jarvis?” Bruce asked.

“Who else?” Another thing to add to the long, long list of things Jarvis had done for him. 

“I really…misread, you know, you and him,” Bruce said awkwardly.

“I know,” Tony said. “Didn’t we already do this? On Indian feast night?”

“I just…projecting my own issues. Kind of thing.”

Tony nodded. He kind of hoped Bruce didn’t elaborate; he wasn’t in a hugging and crying kind of mood.

Fortunately, Bruce didn’t. Instead, he grinned and said, “So, yeah, I feel pretty stupid about it. You, uh, you named your firstborn after him. I should’ve caught that.”

Tony nodded eagerly, on much more comfortable emotional ground. “He’s JARVIS’s…godfather, sort of. I programmed the self-learning system, but Jarvis taught him a lot.”

“That explains a lot,” Bruce said, nodding. “You want to…tell me more about him?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He did.


End file.
